


Let us live at dawn

by TheScarletGarden



Series: Drabbles & Short Stories [17]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Jonerys, Romance, Wishful ending, fuck D&D, slight angst, the Long Night is actually long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23177863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheScarletGarden/pseuds/TheScarletGarden
Summary: A drabble based on the prompts "Kiss #7: I've missed you kiss" + "Kiss #70: Starting With A Kiss Meant To Be Gentle, Ending Up In Passion" and "Kiss #65: One Small Kiss, Pulling Away For An Instant, Then Devouring Each Other" from soiletbabieseatsand.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: Drabbles & Short Stories [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1079349
Comments: 34
Kudos: 106





	Let us live at dawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soiletbabieseatsand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soiletbabieseatsand/gifts).



> Betaed by LustOnMyFingers. ❤️

They hadn’t seen the sun for weeks.

A frenzied trepidation had taken over the whole of Winterfell in preparation for the war to come, the one for _life_. And the more days that passed, the more difficult it became to find words. Dany distantly thought that they _ought_ to talk, extensively so. There had been the revelation of Jon’s true parentage - the pain and confusion apparent in his eyes even as he refused to confront it, the fear for the oncoming war, whatever their relationship had become… and the babe growing in her womb, the child he didn’t yet know he had.

She knew she ought to tell him.

 _Not now_. _Not before a war that could cost this babe’s life_. Daenerys’ hands cradled defensively against her belly, the tiny bump barely perceptible under the many layers of thick fabric. _After, if we both survive_ , she decided. Then, they will have time to sort out the mess their lives had become.

When the thick white mist of the Others descended upon the North, there was a grim sort of acceptance to be found in the eyes of those that had remained to fight. But not Dany. She found her fire again, determination to see this child be born under a benevolent sun, the threat defeated as she had her every enemy.

Something woke in Jon, too. The King was lost in his own grief and confusion, so elusive he could be mistaken for a ghost, too, barely leaving the crypts where a candle now always burnt at the feet of Lady Lyanna’s statue. But when the enemies came, and the shouts of war resonated within Winterfell’s walls, something shifted in him, the urgency of this war steeling him for the one in his heart.

Jon had come to her then, his grey eyes lost into something only he could see, mouth set in a thin line, the weight of the world apparent on his shoulders. She had tipped on her toes, placing a soft, slow kiss upon his lips, half afraid that he would jerk away from her, so cold and distant had he been lately. But when she broke the contact, eyes fluttering open to assess his reaction, she found a hunger she knew well in those grey eyes, and the next moment she was swept up her feet, crushed against his chest as his mouth devoured hers, igniting that flame that had dulled ever since they stepped foot in this frozen land.

They didn’t part that night. Instead, they reminded each other of what they were fighting for, of what would be lost in the cold embrace of death. Dany almost told him, then, of the life that grew in her belly, but something in the sacrality of the moment halted her. Words were entirely inadequate, even whispers felt harsh like shattered glass. Their tongues spoke of life without uttering a sound, hands talking a language of devotion.

In the dim light of the flickering candles, the war outside almost disappeared, the promise of life so real beneath their fingertips. Their bodies united, hearts beating as one, until dawn came, and with it the forgotten dread.

War soon tore them apart, relentless and unforgiving, forcing them to fly to different parts of the continent. For how long the battle lasted, there was no way to know. Daylight never broke the thick cover of darkness, faces growing impossibly pale without the touch of the sun. Bodies growing thin with the scarcity of food. The Queen’s own eyes were as hollow and tired as those of her people, filled with uncertainty and fear, grief and the constant awareness that death was looming above them all. But despite the cold, the exhaustion, the hunger, her child grew in her belly, steeling her resolve with every flutter and kick. And so she fought, riding Drogon into battle time and time again, destroying the dead before they could turn the living into their like.

When the sky broke, finally, excruciating battle after excruciating battle, Daenerys laughed incredulously, feeling half-mad with joy as the first sliver of sun in _months_ touched her pallid skin. The soldiers cheered with her, hollering in triumph when the dead didn’t rise.

Tears of joy and pent-up horror left her eyes at that moment, the sheer relief washing over her, hands going to cradle her now larger belly, and she wished with all of herself that _he_ would be alive still, too. Somehow, she sensed he’d be, that this war hadn’t asked her this one more sacrifice after all it took from her.

She didn’t recognise where she was. The last battle had stranded her somewhere unfamiliar in the icy lands of the North, and now that the impending danger was over, Drogon was nowhere in sight, hidden somewhere to heal his own wounds now that his mother was safe. She reunited with a group of soldiers survived to the slaughter, Dothraki, Unsullied and Northerners alike, all eager to take care of their Queen as they made their way home.

Each day that passed the sun shone a little brighter, until eventually Jon came back to her.

Battered and bruised, an arm tightly wrapped around his chest in healing, a slight limp in his step, but very much alive. Jon found her with the mismatched group of soldiers just north of Winterfell, sharing a bowl of thin soup by the timid campfire.

She stood on unsteady feet and saw his eyes widen when he took in the sight of her belly. Dany had never seen Jon Snow cry, but that day he broke, wailing as he rushed to her, stopping only to cradle her face sweetly with his good hand. The kiss he placed on her lips was tremulous and reverent like he was afraid she would break in the thin mist and disappear if he touched her without the utmost care.

Her King lowered his forehead on hers, his thumb stroking away tendrils of silver hair. His eyes flitted from her face, to her lips, to her belly. “I was _so scared_ -” he exhaled, the tension seemingly leaving his shoulders when she returned his kiss more fiercely, soon turning it into a clash of tongues and teeth, their breath mingling together like fire.

“I know,” she murmured against his lips. “But it’s over. I knew you would come to me. To _us_. It’s over.”

He smiled, then, the brightness of his joy making him look years younger, not a king hardened by war, but a man in love, relief smoothing his features into a boyish beam.

Without another word, their mouths did the speaking all the same. Dawn had come and they stood united again in each other's arms, another heart beating between them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked this short drabble, please leave a comment! Your love and support are what helps me transform my spite for D&D into creativity fuel.
> 
> Now and always, fuck canon.


End file.
